


And I still believe that I cannot be saved

by crookedspoon



Series: I never liked that ending either [2]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen, Hospitalization, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Intoxication, Joseph Kavinsky Lives, POV Prokopenko, POV Second Person, Unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-23 02:33:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11980233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/pseuds/crookedspoon
Summary: Prokopenko pays Kavinsky a visit in the hospital after the Fourth.





	And I still believe that I cannot be saved

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jbird181](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jbird181/gifts).



> Written for #457 "Bouquet" at slashthedrabble and "I want to kill myself" at 1mw's [Weekend Challenge](https://1-million-words.livejournal.com/2122204.html?thread=20320988#t20320988).
> 
> I've had the idea for this scene a couple of weeks back when I saw the prompt "bouquet," but a) I was too blocked to write it, and b) it would have lacked context unless you'd been in my head about the Rehab AU. It probably still lacks context, but I hope we'll be getting there eventually!
> 
> Um, Jay, I'm sorry this is so dreary. Do let me know if you'd like something lighter gifted next time. :')

The room was silent, white, lifeless. If the nurse hadn’t brought you to its doorstep, you’d have thought you’d made a wrong turn somewhere.

You were hyper-aware of the sweat on your brow or how unfocused your eyes were. How the ground beneath you lurched. You picked out every step as if you were treading on ice. You waited for someone to stop you at any moment and see how glazed your eyes were.

Ordinarily you'd wave it off, saying you might be getting a fever, if you could still wrap your tongue around the words, but this was a hospital, for fuck's sake, and you worried someone might snatch you off your feet and pump your stomach and stuff you into a room far away from this one.

Your relief was audible when you sank onto the chair by the window, when you could see for yourself that he was not dead, just sleeping.

Though for him, the difference was nothing more than semantics.

Your head was spinning now that you no longer had to concentrate so hard. You'd been drinking to forget the trauma of your crash - the trauma of nearly losing Kavinsky.

He was as pale as the sheet he was lying on, as pale as the bandages covering his shoulders.

The bedside table was empty, there were no flowers, no get-well-soon cards, probably because no one wished for him to get well. You wondered if his mom had even bothered to notice he was gone.

You doubted it. This wasn’t the first time you visited him in the hospital and you’d never seen her check in on him. Not even once.

Even your parents would have checked, and you weren’t even real anymore. Not that they knew.

“Is this hell already?” he asked, so quiet you almost missed it.

“Same old one, if that’s what you mean.”

He continued mumbling, the mattress eating up half the sounds. “I had a dream I was dead, so why am I still here?”

“You’re tougher to kill than a cockroach, you asshole.”

He huffed. “Yeah, right. Wish I weren’t.”

“What happened?”

He was silent for so long you thought maybe he’d gone back to sleep or simply didn’t care to answer, but then his gaze found yours, glittering, morphine-bright.

“I was right, Alex. I was right, but he didn’t want me. He wanted _nothing_ to do with me.”

His back shook then and he groaned, and it rent something inside you, something like nostalgia, like the memory of a thing that was only a hole now. You couldn’t describe it.

You’d never seen him so vulnerable before, even after his overdoses.

You wanted to kneel by his bedside and soothe him somehow, but dared not touch him. His burns hadn’t healed yet. 

You wanted to tell him that it was okay, or that it would be, but what he hated most of all was when you lied to him. So you couldn’t.

But what else could you tell him?

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Bullet with the Butterfly Wings" by The Smashing Pumpkins.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I'm currently stockpiling prompts for the winter, in case you'd like to send me one. (Post [here](http://crookedspoonfic.tumblr.com/post/164609128545/prompts-are-open), prompts tag [here](http://crookedspoonfic.tumblr.com/tagged/prompts). Feel free to leave your prompts in the comments if you don't have a tumblr. :D)


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